by Melody Anne
“In spite of it all, I really do have some good news that I wanted to share in person.” Jillian’s eyes shifted to the bistro entrance, recognizing someone. “Jaime, I want you to meet Barrett Campbell, features editor at Sport Fitness Magazine.”
Jaime forced herself to bite back the nervous excitement building in her stomach and greeted the sharply dressed man with a firm handshake. He looked to be in his early forties, judging by the flecks of gray in his wavy hair. For the love of god, stay calm and don’t say anything stupid. Sport Fitness Magazine was one of the largest glossy sports magazines in the world. Even a passing reference to her name would be a feat.
A nearby server approached their table the instant Barrett settled into his seat. Jaime ordered the first item on the menu, unable to focus on anything but the well-dressed man in front of her.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Chen. You’ve caused quite a stir with that photograph.” He flashed his phone at her, already loaded with an image from her Instagram account. It was one of her doing a handstand on a narrow log stretched over a ravine earlier in the summer. A small brown squirrel happened to run along next to her head the moment the photo was taken, tiny hind legs lifted to make it look like it was emulating her. Thanks to the little critter’s amazing sense of timing, the photo had gone viral, getting more than a million likes in one day.
Jaime forced a smile onto her face. She was a professional athlete. A multisport Olympic medalist. And her only real claim to fame was getting photo-bombed by a rodent.
“The angle of the shot makes it look more daring than it actually was.” She was known for her crazy antics, but she wasn’t stupid. The ravine was only about eight feet deep.
“I know we’re all on a tight schedule,” Barrett said with a casual smile, “so I’ll get down to it. Are you familiar with the Bodies of Sport issue, Ms. Chen?”
She nodded slowly, not daring to blink in case the moment disappeared out from under her. The annual Bodies of Sport issue was the biggest photo spread in the world of professional sports.
“How would you feel about appearing as one of our featured bodies in this year’s issue?”
“Me? You want me to be in your magazine?”
“Not just in the magazine. We want you for the cover.”
Holy. Shit. She looked at her agent for confirmation that this wasn’t a joke or a delusion crafted by her wicked mind. Jillian nodded.
Her. They wanted her. Jaime Chen. Loudmouthed runt of the soccer world.
She inhaled deep into her belly. Say yes. Don’t say anything other than yes. “Are you just asking me because of all the criticism you got for the lack of diversity last year?” Dammit! The words spilled out before she had the chance to stop herself.
Barrett sputtered, nearly knocking over his coffee as he set it on the table.
Jillian gave her a warning look but didn’t interfere. She knew Jaime well enough to realize this was important.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.” There she went again, acting like her own worst enemy. The Bodies of Sport issue was predisposed to beautiful blondes who couldn’t win a medal if their lives depended on it. Not once had an Asian athlete been featured, much less made the cover.
Barrett cleared his throat, his genial expression fading. “Your background has certainly factored into our decision, but I assure you this is not a token inclusion. We’re taking a new editorial direction this year. Given your sizable following on social media, we think this is a great opportunity for synergy.”
“And by ‘synergy’ you mean bringing a new readership to Sport Fitness?”
Barrett responded with a knowing half smile. “Of course. We always welcome the opportunity to expand our reach. Soccer is one of the fastest-growing sports in the country. Millions of children and their parents spend their Saturday mornings playing and watching the game. It’s a hugely untapped market. But this isn’t just a marketing ploy—this is about celebrating the dedication and outstanding achievements of athletes around the world. For your cover shoot, we’re thinking something sexy and vibrant on a private beach in Hawaii. Are you comfortable appearing in a bikini?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. It’s rather shocking how many female athletes refuse to show a little skin.”
Jillian touched her knee beneath the table. Jaime unclenched her fists and met Barrett with a hard gaze. She wanted this photo shoot more than anything, but no one said she had to like the man behind it. “That would be their prerogative, wouldn’t it?”
“Of course. We’d like to pair you in this shoot with a baseball player named Martin Daniels,” Barrett continued, unfettered. Either her comment hadn’t sunk in or he just didn’t care. “Have you heard of him?”
Jaime bit her tongue and shook her head.
“You certainly will. He’s the comeback story of the decade. I think you two will look great together. The comeback kid and the unstoppable underdog.”
“Underdog?”
“Well, you must know that your body type makes you an unlikely candidate for either of the sports in which you’ve excelled.” His eyes went directly to her chest.
She threw her hands up in the air. “It always comes down to the double Ds.”
“Jaime.” Jillian tapped her stiletto-clad foot into Jaime’s shin.
“Your height, as well. Five one—”
“And a half.” It was a very important half.
“—is unusual for any sport,” he continued.
He had her there. The chorus of voices from her teenage years telling her she’d never make it as an athlete had long since faded, to the point where she didn’t think about her height as a disadvantage anymore. “Lucky for me, I’m very good at ignoring the word ‘no.’ ”
Barrett leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “That’s just the kind of spunk we’re looking for. Now, there is one concern I need to address before we sign the contract.”
“What’s that?”
“Bodies of Sport features athletes at the peak of fitness. I’ve been told you’re battling a lingering ankle injury.”
“It’s just a sprain,” she interjected hastily. “And it’s nearly healed.”
“That’s great news! As long as you’re back in form by next month, I think this will work out wonderfully.”
“You can count on it,” she said with a tight smile.
Barrett and Jillian finalized the details while Jaime munched on her beet and kale salad and let the fantasy of a romantic Hawaiian beach carry her away. In spite of her reservations, this was the kind of breakthrough she desperately needed. The Bodies of Sport issue was a chance to prove to the world that she wasn’t just some party girl who’d stumbled into a career as a professional athlete. She worked damn hard for her success, and she deserved to have that recognized.
When Barrett finally left, Jaime abandoned her food and met Jillian’s inscrutable gaze. “I know I’m supposed to be more polite to these kinds of people.”
“Nah,” Jillian said with a casual flick of the hand. “It all needed to be said. That’s why I wanted you here for the meeting. It gives me a chance to step in as the rational go-between.”
“Kind of like good cop, crazy cop? I can get behind that.” She paused, considering whether to ask the next question on her mind. “Do you think they’re asking me because I’m Asian?”
Jillian pursed her lips. “I’m going to be honest with you, Jaime. You’re a last-minute replacement for Amy Taylor.”
“The blond pro snowboarder who just checked into a bulimia-recovery program?” Long flights and road trips gave Jaime plenty of opportunity to catch up on all sorts of sports and celebrity gossip.
Jillian leaned forward, a fierce look in her eyes. “That, plus the flack they’ve been getting for their lack of diversity, had a lot to do with the decision to bring you in. But that doesn’t change the fact that you deserve this. And it’s still the break we’ve been working toward for
the last four years. A chance to get the world’s attention on you. That means you need to be at the top of your game every single step of the way. Because if you aren’t, you can kiss that cover good-bye. How’s your ankle holding up?”
“It’s great. I swear it won’t be a problem.” She put as much conviction as she could manage into the short sentence. Even if she had to fight through unbearable pain for the rest of the season, she was going to make this cover shoot happen. The two women stared at each other for a few seconds. Finally Jillian nodded.
Jaime left the bistro shortly after, stepping into the bustle of the city that was made all the more surreal after the nomination. Her whole universe was on the precipice of change. With trembling fingers, she pulled her cell phone from her purse and dialed her parents. The childish compulsion to make them proud was as strong as it was when she first stepped onto a soccer field at eight years old.
Her heart fluttered as the first ring blared against her eardrum. Panic tightened her throat. She picked up the pace of her stride as she wandered down the sidewalk, trying to shed some of the weight on her shoulders.
“Hello? Jaime, are you okay?” Anxiety laced the sharp voice on the other end.
“Everything’s fine, Mom. I swear.” It killed Jaime the way her own voice shook. “In fact, everything’s great. I just found out I’m going to be on the cover of a magazine.”
She held her breath for a few seconds, waiting to hear her mother ask her what magazine, when she could get a copy, or even just say how proud of her she was.
“That’s nice, dear,” her mom said, voice cooling to the dull, distant cadence Jaime was accustomed to, the one that made it seem like she was on another planet entirely. “Are you going to make it back for the annual fund-raiser walk?”
Crap. She’d forgotten. How could she possibly have forgotten? “When is it again?” Her mother rattled off the date. “That’s right in the middle of play-offs.”
She could feel the frost crystallizing through the receiver. “It’s the fifteen-year anniversary, Jaime.”
“I know, Mom.”
“Chelsea would—”
“I know.” A passerby knocked into her shoulder, like he was psychically connected to her mother and acting out her whims.
“Well, a donation will have to be sufficient.”
“I think I can give you eight hundred bucks.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s my first year playing pro. I haven’t had much time to save.”
“It will be embarrassing if we don’t raise the most money among the other Warriors this year, Jaime. You know, your father and I were thinking of selling off some of your old trophies on eBay. We could consider that part of your donation.”
Jaime closed her eyes and clenched the phone until her fingers hurt. Had she really expected this conversation to go any other way? “If we make the play-offs, we get bonuses. I’ll let you know in a few weeks if I have more cash to spare. Okay?”
“Then we’ll hope for the best.”
Jaime hung up at that point and straightened her shoulders. It wasn’t the first time she had to believe in herself enough to convince the rest of the world. She was damn proud of herself, and eventually her parents would admit they were, too.
2
“HOW THE HELL ARE you out of supplies already, Martinez?”
Alex scrubbed a hand across his jaw and slumped back in the oversize lounge chair. It took every ounce of self-control to not chuck his cell phone across the hotel lobby. “Because you gave me a supply budget so small I need a microscope to see it.” He knew he was digging himself into a deep hole by speaking to his boss this way, but every other tactic he’d tried over the last few months had gotten him jack squat. He was done with false politeness and endless hoop jumping. He needed his damn supplies.
“It’s a reasonable amount,” Carson Chester responded tersely.
“Bullshit,” he said a touch too loud, drawing a shocked expression from a gray-haired woman in a nearby chair. “It’s a fifth of the budget the Surge get, and these women play just as many games and have just as much risk of injury as the guys. Probably more, given the length of this road trip.”
“And the Falcons bring in less than a fifth of the amount of revenue compared to the Surge.”
“I need a bigger supply budget.”
“What you need, Martinez, is to produce that damn status report on Jaime Chen and explain to me why one of my best players has been hobbling around on the field like a three-legged puppy for the last two months.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Work harder. If Chen isn’t perfectly fit for the play-offs two weeks from now, you can kiss next year’s contract good-bye.”
Chester ended the call before Alex could get another word in, which was for the best, since the conversation was already veering off a sharp cliff. On the surface, Carson Chester was one of the biggest champions of women’s pro soccer. With the Seattle Falcons, he had assembled an incredible group of players for the inaugural year of the American Women’s Soccer League, and gave them access to the legendary Chester Stadium, where the affiliated men’s team, the Seattle Surge, played. But the bigger truth, the deeper truth, was that he was a cheap son of a bitch determined to recoup whatever costs he could from the venture, regardless of the toll it took on the athletes.
Unfortunately, dealing with his boss was only the start of a bad night that was about to get a lot worse. There was only one other person on earth who pissed him off more than Carson Chester, and he was pretty sure she was the source of the ear-shattering cheering that had just erupted from the hotel bar next door.
Alex crossed the lobby and peered into the dimly lit lounge, searching for his prey among the crowd of Falcons players celebrating their victory. They’d beaten the New York Cougars 4–2 earlier in the day, and the mood was so high at least half the bar patrons had joined in the extended celebration. After four months on the road with the team, there was one thing Alex knew for certain. If there was a party, Jaime Chen was at the epicenter.
The evidence of her presence was undeniable. Endless stacks of shot glasses and a half-finished White Russian were perched at the corner of the battered wooden table in the middle of the room. The insipid lounge music had been replaced by a scratchy compilation CD of 1990s techno music—the inescapable sound track to Jaime’s life.
But she wasn’t there.
It was like the woman had a sixth sense for avoiding him. And driving him crazy. She’d skipped out on her postgame physiotherapy session with him for the fourth time in a row. He’d scoured the stadium looking for her after she’d run off. Her absence on the bus back to the hotel was even more conspicuous. But with two banged-up knees to assess, six ice-downs to coordinate, and an intensive acupuncture treatment for the backup keeper, who was recovering from a nasty case of bursitis, he did not have time for this shit.
He needed to focus on salvaging what was left of his career. But to do that, he had to keep every single one of the Falcons players in tip-top shape until the end of the season. Including Jaime Chen.
Alex’s reassignment from the Surge to the Falcons earlier this summer had been euphemistically pitched as a promotion, making him the lead—and only—physiotherapist of the newly instated professional women’s soccer team. The reality was that his inability to play nice with Chester and toe the line had gotten him demoted. Instead of working with a team of physiotherapists, athletic trainers, and physicians traveling in luxury with the Surge, he worked fifteen-hour days, performing most of his consults on a bus with an air conditioner that had been broken since 1986.
To his surprise, he didn’t hate working with the Falcons, despite the lack of resources. Having spent the better part of the decade in male sports, he had no idea how different it would be to work with female athletes. The players were just as tough as the men he’d worked with and partied just as hard, if not harder, but their level of suspicion and wariness was incomparable. For the most par
t, the men he’d treated had whined at first, then sucked it up and listened to his advice. The Falcons questioned everything he said. It was refreshing, most of the time. They wanted to know the minutiae of his diagnoses, the mechanics of the treatment and alternatives, and then made thoughtful, reasoned decisions. Except Jaime Chen, who preferred to make no decision at all.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of shiny black hair heading across the far end of the lobby for the hallway leading to the pool. He followed silently down the dark corridor, expecting to find her drunkenly splashing around. Instead, he stopped short behind a corner when he heard her hushed, husky voice.
“No more self-doubt, Tara. You are a valuable member of this team. I want to hear you say it.”
Alex recognized the other person as Tara Bilodeau. The younger player had been called in that day as a substitute for Jaime late in the second half, but her self-esteem on and off the field had been suffering in the past few weeks. And though it would be a perfect opportunity to sneak up on Jaime, throw her over his shoulder, and force her into letting him inspect that swollen ankle, these kinds of confidence-building moments were sacred. He lived by the credo of helping athletes achieve their best, and that meant there were some lines he wouldn’t cross.
“Fine, I’m awesome.” Tara’s whisper was unconvincing, but Alex found himself wrapped up in the clandestine conversation, rooting for the young athlete to find her spark.
Jaime punched her in the shoulder. “Louder.”
“I’m awesome!” Tara slapped an embarrassed hand over her mouth after yelling loud enough to cause more than one head to pop out of a door and see what was going on.
Attagirl. He wasn’t immune to the euphoric pride of fandom. It was the whole reason he became a sports physiotherapist. The thrill of watching the players overcome insurmountable odds or achieve a personal best gave him an unparalleled rush. The glorious moment where years of training, heartache, and perseverance come together to carve out a team’s slice of history. Knowing he was one of the many hands along the way lifting those athletes up toward greatness was his reason for being. And while he might not have predicted his path would lead him to the American Women’s Soccer League, his heart and soul were now fully invested in these women. Which is why he was so damn set on helping Jaime in spite of her evasions.
